


Something Rich and Strange

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Sky High (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, Fae & Fairies, Multi, Royalty, i don't even go to this fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-13 04:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13562595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: I was a boy and I was goodBut there are Witches in these woodsORWill makes a friend and, unbeknownst to him, things kind of spiral out of control from there.





	1. Will

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't plan on writing this at all. I've seen Sky High a grand total of _once_ , but after listening to San Fermin's "The Woods" (the song which provided the summary, although beyond that it's got nothing to do w/ the fic) this idea wouldn't let me go.
> 
> Thanks to [AFireInTheAttic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFireInTheAttic) for the beta and [Elleelizabethx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleelizabethx/pseuds/akafinndameron) for the encouragement and general awesomeness.
> 
> Title comes from "Oceanica" by San Fermin.

Will is eight and playing in the gardens when he meets her. Her red hair is wild, her clothes dirty but otherwise well kept. He reasons that she must be one of the servant's kids and doesn’t think on it any further than that. It’s also not hard to walk over to her with a childish grin, hand sticking out. “I’m Will.”

She’ll probably know he’s the prince, but he can hope that by not saying it she might be more willing to play with him, instead of feeling that she _has_ to play with him.

Green eyes blink at him for a moment and her head tilts in a strange fashion. Yet she takes his hand and gives a firm shake. “Layla.”

“Do you want to help my find the rabbits?” The cook’s been complaining about them getting into the vegetable patch, but it’s also spring and there should be baby rabbits, which are fun to watch. He’s certain as a prince he shouldn’t be watching rabbits, but he reasons he can spend his free time however he’d like.

“Are you going to kill them?” Her eyes narrow.

Now he’s the one blinking. “No.” Sure he’ll eat them if they’re on the table, but he’s not going to go out and _kill_ them.

Her grin banishes the narrowed eyes. “Alright.” She bounds away, leaving him racing to catch up. The feel of someone watching him has him stopping and turning around. All he sees behind him, however, are the more formal gardens and the woods. Turning back around he chases after Layla again.

-

“Out of all the bad ideas you’ve had this has got to be the worst. He’s the _prince_.”

“I know what I’m doing. Just trust me okay?”

“Layla…”

“If you tell anyone I swear I’ll drain all the hot springs for miles around.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me. _Swear_ you won’t tell anyone unless I say you can.”

“ _Fine._ I swear on the mountains I won’t tell anyone you’re having playdates with the prince.”

“Thank you. You know, you could join us instead of lurking in the trees and glowering next time.”

“Don’t push your frosting luck Layla.”

-

Will grows up. In the mornings he studies everything a prince might need to know and in the afternoons he learns to fight, but the evenings after dinner are his own, and more often than not they find him in the gardens running around and playing with Layla.

Despite knowing he should he never tells his parents about her, he finds he doesn’t want to share her with them. Not if he has the choice. Anyways, she’s only a serving girl, why should they care about her when she’s clearly happy and cared for?

Layla’s teaching him the best way to catch fireflies while he tells her about his morning lessons. “My tutors started teaching me about the Woodkin today.”

Her hands pause only briefly in the strange net she’s building out of grass. “Are they now?”

“It’s more interesting than old dusty laws.” The Woodkin have lived alongside humans for as long as anyone can remember. More often than not they’re at war with each other. The peace they currently have is tenuous at best. If they’re lucky it’ll last a century and Will won’t ever have to use the battle lessons or weapons he’s learned.

Yet the Woodkin are heartless and ever hungry, the greenwitches that rule them canny and always plotting. War is inevitable, that’s what everyone says.

Layla’s snort breaks him from his thoughts. “ _Anything’s_ better than dusty old laws. Come on, net’s ready.” It trails behind her as she creeps towards the cloud of fireflies. He matches her pace and when the reach the edge of the drifting swarm he watches in amazement as she flicks her grass net out. Somehow the end she’d thrown out loops back towards her and when she closes it Will sees a good handful of fireflies trapped. “If we’re careful we can take some out and let them crawl on us. No sudden movements or they’ll fly right away.”

With a nod he holds his hand out.

-

As he’s gotten older he’s spent more and more time at court functions, meeting nobles and foreign visitors, noted scholars, knights, merchants, the list goes on. So at fifteen they’ve become old habit, even if the function in question is his father’s birthday.

Will’s attempting to be interested in the particulars of tea harvesting when it happens.

The doors open, not unusual—even a few hours after the celebration started new guests are still arriving—but the herald sounds nervous as he speaks. “H-her,” murmurs ripple through the crowd and not even Will’s immune to curiosity about what has the herald bumbling.

“Mo-mother Oihana, and, her heir Gwendolen.”

Greenwitches.

They _look_ like people, but everything else about them shows that they are decidedly _not_. Mother Oihana is willowy, her brown hair done up in some strange style. Held up by still flowering branches and glittering cobwebs. Her dress is made up of broad green leaves.

Her daughter Gwendolen… Will looks away before his blush grows too much. Hair darker than her mother’s, with only flowers for decoration. Dress of orange, yellow, and red leaves, even out of the corner of his eye something about it draws him in.

Every year mother and father invite the Mother of the Woodkin and her heir. Because of courtesy his mother had told him. They’ve never accepted the invitation however, in the back of his mind Will wonders why they’re here now.

Not that he has much time to focus on it, his eyes catching a subtle gesture from his mother. He excuses himself from the now silent merchant and makes his way towards them. “Mother Oihana, this is a pleasant surprise.” Father gives a faint tilt of his head. “You know my wife Josephine, and this is our son William.”

If anything’s a test of Will’s skills it’s going to be this. Even with the urge to stare at Gwendolen he gives the right degree of bow.

Mother Oihana gives a brilliant smile. “Hello William, it is good to see you’ve grown since your naming day.” Before he can respond she turns her attention to his father. “Steven I offer you good wishes on this the day of your birth…”

“Hey.”

Will starts, before realizing Gwendolen is talking to _him._ He turns to look at her and the smile she gives him is brighter than the sun.

“Would you escort me to the food Prince William?”

Finding himself unable to speak he gives a nod and holds his arm out. Her fingers settle, feeling more like a breeze than flesh and blood. In his head he suggests and throws out anything and everything he could say to her. Certain that if he _does_ speak he’ll just trip over his tongue like the herald.

“You humans are more interesting than I thought.”

Is it more embarrassing to blush or try to fight it and fail? “I...That’s, that’s nice of you to say. You’re...quite radiant yourself.” Maybe he should have thought a bit more before letting his mouth open.

She laughs and he’s not the only one staring at her now. “I can see you’re a charmer, I’ll have to keep my eye on you.”

Will doesn’t have an ounce of magic in him, but he swears he’s _floating_.

-

“How dare she! She’s ruining my plan!”

“She doesn’t know your plan Layla. How can she be ruining it? If you’d told your mother you wanted to go you’d be right down there and able to _do_ something instead of glowering through a window.”

“If I were there it’d be even worse. Oh, _frost_ you Gwen, Will’s _mine_.”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were one of us. _Ow._ Do you _want_ me to drop you?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Tell me your plan and I won’t drop you.”

“In a few months! In a few months I’ll tell you. Everything’ll be germinating or it’ll have gone fallow by then. I swear on the great tree I’ll tell you.”

“Alright, a few more months.”

“Now shut up.”

“...when we get back to the woods do you want to put nettles in your sister’s bed?”

“...alright.”

-

It’s a few days after father’s birthday party and Will _still_ feels like he’s floating. Granted this doesn’t serve him as well as he’d like, the bruises he’s sporting after his sparring lessons testament enough. Not that he notices them all that much.

Not even floating and bruises however can make him forget his few secret hours with Layla. There’s perhaps something to be said for having a secret friend at almost fifteen, but even now he finds no urge to tell anyone about her. _How_ would he even do that at this point? Nevermind them perhaps needing a chaperone.

Anyways he likes having the secret now. So much of his life he can’t have for himself, but this is _his_.

As he approaches their usual meeting spot he hears voices arguing. With a blink he realizes that Layla isn’t alone. The man is taller than her, with black hair and skin a little darker than Will’s own. Will’s far away enough that he can’t hear what they’re arguing about, but Layla doesn’t look scared or afraid.

Even so Will finds himself picking up his pace.

He doesn’t exactly try to hide his approach either. Layla spots him and she says something to the man. Will’s close enough now that he can hear the bit out, “ _fine,_ ” before the man storms off.

Layla’s expression is almost tranquil when Will reaches her. “Who was that?”

“A pain in my ass…” Despite her appearance her voice is anything but calm.

“Brother?” He half hopes.

Her laughter surprises him. “No. Warren’s a...companion. Probably a friend. My older sister teases that he only hangs out with me to keep me from stupid things.” Anger flashes across her face.

It doesn’t escape Will’s notice that this is the first time Layla’s talked about her family. But this Warren tugs at him more than any interest in Layla’s family. “He seems a bit old to be minding you.” The two of them are the same age, and he knows there are serving girls their age doing work in the palace. If Layla’s among their number he wouldn’t think she’d need someone _watching_ her. The irony compared to his earlier thoughts does not escape him.

Another laugh, this one more a giggling snort. “Warren’s only a few years older than us. He just grew quick, it happens a lot in his family.” She turns on him with a bright smile. “One of the mousers had kittens, come on.”

At their age they shouldn’t be doing childish things like going to look at kittens. Yet how can he say no? He might know next to nothing about her life outside these hours they spend together, but he knows _her_. So he follows after. When they reach the barn he watches with a smile as she charms the cat and soon they’re embroiled with the smallest kittens he’s ever seen.

When he makes it back to his rooms he remembers he’d wanted to talk to her about the party. Oh well, he can do it next time.

-

The dragon’s roar has everyone running again. It’s followed a moment later by a long gout of flames, hot enough that the rocks it hits begin to _melt_. “Follow me!” Will’s already hoarse voice shots. He only catches a few people’s attention, but they follow and others see their harried train as he tries to lead them away from the _dragon attacking the castle_.

A cry behind him has him turning around, in time to see rocks beginning to fall towards those following him. Will doesn’t think. _“Run!_ ” He follows his own command, lungs aching as he reaches the youngest of his train, frozen in fear.

Easy enough to push them out of the way. The first rock that hits him hurts worse than anything else he’s ever felt. He’s almost grateful when he blacks out.

-

Will isn’t sure if he’s conscious or if he’s making up the argument he’s hearing in his head.

“What was I supposed to do? Leave him to die? Do you know how bad that would have been for everyone?” Layla’s in true angry form. Will almost feels sorry for whomever she’s shouting at.

“You could have dragged him somewhere safe and _left him_. What part of ‘rescue him’ meant _bringing him to the Tree?_ ” It’s that Warren guy, sounding just as angry.

Layla scoffs. “Well when _your father’s_ attacking the human castle there’s not a lot of safe places I could have left Will. Not with him unconscious. Trust me, if I could have done it differently I would have. Anyways, this way I know he’ll get better quick. Once he’s healed we’ll take him back to his parents.”

“Good.” A sound of movement. “I wish things had gone differently too. If dad makes it out of this alive mom’s gonna kill him.”

Tense laughter. “She’s gonna have to get in line. He broke the most important Covenant to the peace. Mother will have to make an example of him, and who knows how the humans might retaliate. I kind of want to kill him too, my whole plan’s in shambles now. I hate having to _react_ instead of act. Sorry.”

A snort. “I’m angry, but not at you. Guess you have no excuse not to tell me now though.”

Darkness claims Will again.

-

When he awakens a second time he realizes he’s staring up at interwoven branches and not stone like he expected. Even with feeling like he’s not wholly in his body he attempts to push himself upright. Which only results in a bright flash of pain and a groan.

Alright, it also results in Layla appearing above him. There could be worse things.

“Will!” Her relieved smile makes him attempt to smile in return. “Don’t try to move. You took a beating during the attack and even with my help it’s slow going. Are you thirsty?”

Unsure if he should risk speaking he manages a nod, which doesn’t hurt thankfully. Layla vanishes and a moment later returns with a ladle filled with water. When he drinks it’s the sweetest water he’s ever tasted. “Where?” Is all he manages to croak out.

She makes him take another drink of water. “My home. Last I heard your parents were alright, once you’re better I’ll take you back.”

He gives a little nod. When he’s finished the water she helps him sit upright, which sends bolts of pain through him. Layla fusses and as it fades he looks around. The room’s almost as big as his own back in the castle, except where stone should be there’s branches. Walls, floors, ceiling, all made of branches as thick as a man. His own hiss of pain pulls him out of his confusion, when he looks down Layla’s unwrapping some bandages.

“Hopefully Warren’ll be back soon with the stuff I need,” she seems to be talking more to herself than him. “Don’t touch it.” She narrows her eyes at him and stands, going over to a table covered in various herbs and bowls.

As he watches she picks up a few and all he can do is blink as the dried plants...turn green and fresh. Stripping the leaves from the twigs she drops both into a large mortar.

He opens his mouth to ask if his head’d been hit as well. Before he can a young man pushes through the branches, arms full of cloth bags. “She had everything but lover’s sorrow.” He sets the bags on the table next to Layla. Eyes barely flicking to Will. “You’re lucky she didn’t think to ask me  _why_ I wanted them.”

“Doesn’t have lover’s sorrow.” Layla’s expression grows pinched. “I’ll bet,” sarcasm fills her voice. “Thank you though.” She empties the bags and begins sorting through them.

“Where,” Will clears his throat. “Where am I?” She already answered, but he feels he has to ask again. This doesn’t look like _any_ human home Will’s ever seen. He’s starting to get his suspicions, but he doesn’t know if he wants them to be true or not.

Warren gives Layla a look. “You didn’t tell him?”

Layla pounds the pestle with more force. Pulling it out she brings the mortar with her back to the bed. “Arms up as high as you can Will.” The cool paste against his skin has him twitching, but he manages to hold still enough.

While he’s grateful for the care he still has to know. “Layla…”

Her pinched expression returns. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier Will. I _liked_ pretending I was human for a while.” Her too green eyes look into his as his heart settles in the region of his stomach. “You’re in the Tree.”

The Tree, the heart of the Woodkin kingdom.

It’s not exactly panic that fills him. Even if Layla lied to him about what she is he finds he still trusts her. They’ve been friends for too long. More than a few things make sense now, like how she could always charm the animals, or make seemingly anything out of plants.

Which doesn’t mean the lie hurts any less.

Layla finishes her application and switches mortar for fresh bandages. “I did mean it when I said we’d bring you back Will. The dragon’s gone but they’re still dealing with the clean up. We’re trying to figure out what to do too.” Behind her Warren snorts. Will decides he doesn’t want to know if he imagined the wisps of smoke. Layla rolls her eyes and Will’s torn between laughing and aching.

She’s right though, one of the Woodkin attacked the kingdom. His parents have every right to go to war. The next time he might see Layla could be on a battlefield—an idea he finds hurts more than her lie.

“Here I thought _your_ plan was a bust.” Will’s not sure he likes Warren’s tone. Layla had said he was a friend, but what sort of friend is that mean?

From under the bed Layla pulls out a ball of woven twigs and tosses it at Warren’s head. Despite his dislike Will grows a little worried when it grows thorns. It hits Warren’s ear. “Ow.” Layla sticks her tongue out.

Will might not know many Woodkin, but he knows their reflexes are faster than humans. Warren could’ve dodged that if he really wanted to. The fact he didn’t just leaves Will confused. Not that that’s the only thing confusing him. “You had a plan?”

“Not really a plan-plan,” Layla sighs. “More like…” She makes a face. “ _Aeosh_.” Will knows some Woodkin, but that word isn’t one of them. Her head turns enough to look at Will and Warren both, but her eyes are on Warren.

Who shrugs. “Don’t look at me to translate for you. _You’re_ the one still studying Humans.”

Layla huffs. “Fine. Doesn’t really matter anyways.” Her full attention’s back on Will and he finds himself realizing that here she looks _different_. That there’s something about her she’s not trying to hide anymore and it tugs at him in a way he doesn’t expect. “Will, what if I had a way our peoples didn’t have to go to war?”

“That’d be...great.” He _does_ mean it, but the idea that _Layla_ has a way to keep the peace is sort of mind boggling. His parents have done their best to keep the peace his grandfather forged, and while he’s trained for war it doesn’t mean he _wants_ it. Still, he has no actual idea of what she’s going to suggest.

She scoots closer, as if she’s going to share a secret. But when she speaks it’s her normal tone of voice—apparently not caring if Warren overhears. “What if you and I got married?”

Will blinks, then blinks again. “Marriage?” At sixteen Will hasn’t thought _too_ much on it, despite the nobles tossing their daughters—and the occasional son—at him. He’ll have to do it someday, to a woman he hopefully likes, because it’s expected of him. The idea of marrying Layla’s never crossed his mind. True, marrying his best friend would mean their marriage might actually _work_ , but she’s Woodkin. He might not know as much as he thought he did, but he knows they don’t do marriage. Not in the human way. Nevermind the fact that Layla might still be ‘beneath’ him as the rest of the court sees it.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, especially since you’re probably still hurt over me lying to you. But even with my mother holding a trial for the one who did this you know things are going to be more tense. Your people are going to wonder and worry that it might happen again, my people are going to see your people arming themselves and start to wonder if _we’re_ going to be attacked.” She shakes her head.

“Neither of us wants that.” Will knows, but he’s still trying to work through everything Layla’s said.

“If it helps,” Warren’s voice makes Will jumped, mostly having forgotten the other man was there. “She’s second in line to Mother.”

“What?” Will squawks.

Layla tosses the ball again, this time Warren ducks.


	2. Layla

When Layla was six her mother took her into her lap and hugged her. “No matter what, little flower, I love you. But mothers must tell hard truths sometimes, even if they hurt.” Thin fingers run through Layla’s hair as she stared at her mother, unsure of what was happening. “You will do important things little flower, will make your mark on the world in whatever way you wish. You should never do these things in the hopes that they might help make you Mother. That is the fate of your sister, however much you might hate her for it.”

Mother said more things in that conversation, but Layla hardly heard them. Her focus more on the idea of making a mark on the world. It resonated in Layla, but even at six she didn’t know what that might be.

-

She met Warren for the first time a moon or so after that. She’d entered the common rooms, giving her usual eye roll at the little court her sister was already holding; even Woodkin were drawn to her like flies to honey. Except, she realized, there was one person seemingly even less interesting in Gwen than Layla was.

Without a second thought Layla trotted over and took the seat across from him. He was a few years older than her, black hair, sharp face that spoke of a form less human-shaped than most. His attention was on the book he was reading, but he did spare her a glance when she cleared her throat politely. Only for his gaze to go right back to his book.

Layla was unperturbed. “I’m Layla.”

He didn’t answer right away, but Layla could be patient. Swinging her feet she hummed to herself as she traced out the runes she’d been learning this week.

“Warren,” he finally answered. She gave him a bright smile full of teeth.

-

Despite her claim to Warren Layla _didn’t_ exactly know what she was doing. It had been curiosity more than anything that had prompted her to meet the human prince Will.

He was perhaps the only human who might understand some of the pressure she felt. She might be the second daughter, but it still sometimes felt like everyone looked to her to be an example. Perhaps if she _told_ Will who she really was they’d be able to talk about it. She found she can’t though, enjoying his illusion of being just a girl. He didn’t expect her to be anything other than a friend.

Now that she’d had a few meetings however, she found a plan beginning to take shape in her head.

Greenwitches don’t marry like humans do, there’s no expectation for her to make a good match and bring money/prestige/power to her family. Woodkin only use money when they interact with humans, and it’s not as if her family could _gain_ any prestige or power. They’re greenwitches, and there’s good reason why they rule the Woodkin. Yet she knows even for human males it’s important.

She’s always wondered how she might make her mark on the world, how best to live on after she’d become nothing more than food for green growing things. What better way than this?

Marry Will Stronghold and become the future queen of the humans. The first Woodkin to ever do so.

Peace and fame all in the same breath.

There’s perhaps some humans who would wring their hands, worry that she’d ensorcelled him somehow, that it wasn’t love.

To which she would tell them she _couldn’t_ bewitch him, her powers lay in plants, not people. No plant existed in the world that could make someone marry another, make someone love someone else. And what did love have to do with marriage anyways?

Layla’s sure there were worse things to happen than marrying your friend.

It would be easy to tell Warren, but she’s scared to. Despite knowing he might understand best out of everyone. He himself was a tenuous sort of peace. The son of a Wave clan mother and Mountain clan father. The two might never have been at war—they need each other too much for that—but they have forever been wary. Some days it seems people watch and stare at Warren, as if attempting to see which one he’ll take after more.

Warren might understand, not like it, but understand. Yet Layla felt that telling _anyone_ might see her plans fall to ruin before she’d even begun them. And now that she’d thought them she _wanted_ them to become reality.

-

Most people might think Warren snarling and ready with biting comments is him on a bad day. Layla finds she doesn't have it in her to tell them those are his _good_ days.

Bad days he rarely speaks at all. Bad days she and him retreat into the trees, away from everyone else. She joins him in his silence as she lures him into a dance of plants and fire, lets him lurk in the woods nearby while she plays and talks with Will. She doesn’t even let herself give disproving looks when he hunts.

His worst days she’s lucky if she leaves her rooms.

As morning dawns she awakes, her groggy brain taking a few moments to realize she’s baking under her sheets and that there’s something smooth, almost slick, under her hand. Bleary eyes open to see a sinuous expanse of black. Oh.

Pushing herself upright with the help of a coil of scales and muscle she just blinks at Warren’s other face. His dark red mane is laying flat at least. Not giving it much thought one of her hands comes up and scratches at scales, making sure to get that spot right behind his left horn. Amber brown eyes slide shut and his out of place wings shiver as he purrs.

His eyes open and the purring cuts off as she stops and tries to get up. Talons curl around her ankle and she turns and glares at him. He knows how this goes: he’s allowed to hoard her, but she needs to let everyone know she’s not to be disturbed. Needs to grab things for herself to do, otherwise she’s going to start pulling her hair out at being trapped in bed. His talons let her go.

She uses her scrying bowl to let mother know she won’t be out and that food should be left outside her door, grabs some books and a few of the smaller projects she’s working on. Putting them in easy reach she climbs back into bed settling herself so that she’s sitting upright against the loops of Warren’s body. The fur on his tail tickles as he lays it over her feet. His head is heavy as it settles on her lap and his purring resumes as she buries her fingers in his mane.

Layla bites back a laugh as she thinks of how she might explain this to Will in the future. He might know about the various Woodkin, but she doubts he _understands_ them like she does. Granted, even among Woodkin, dragons are a strange bunch.

When she gets to that problem she’ll solve it, perhaps she’ll get lucky and Warren might add Will to his hoard too.

-

Telling Will had never really been part of her plan. Not because she didn’t think he’d like it. More that Will wasn’t the sort to put too much thought into things and might not have understood _why_ she’d decided to do this.

He does deserve to know on the other hand, it _does_ affect his life too. So perhaps she could have gone about this whole thing better, she just did her best with what she had. He knows now though, and with how things are working out she’s not sure how much he likes everything that’s happened.

She and Warren leave to give him some space. Ostensibly to get food, but she’s determined they’ll take their time. “Give him a week and he’ll be fine.” Warren’s assessment is hardly reassuring.

“I didn’t know you knew him that well,” she replies airily.

Warren snorts and she can smell heat. “Please. You know full well I watch over the both of you. He’s head over heels, he’s just too stuck to realize it.”

His words make her stop in the middle of the hallway, Warren steps around her easily and his brown eyes stare at her. It’s not as if the idea of love, at least romantic love, was ever _impossible_. Just not _necessary_. Warren’s words have her reexamining her own feelings though. How does one tell if what they feel is romantic or friendly? She doesn’t even know if she and Will can even feel love the same way.

She knows she loves Warren. He’s one of the few people that’s always there for her, even when he’s being stubborn. How can she _not_ love him? She’s never however made herself think too much about what she feels for Will.

“I hate you,” she keeps her voice airy still as she brushes past Warren.

A soft shriek leaves her when Warren scoops her up. “Uh huh. Come on.” He swings her onto his back and between heartbeats he moves from human-shape to dragon-shape.

Her hands and knees grip instinctively as Warren slithers out through an opening, the open air of the Woods refreshing in a way. Warren twists and heads downwards, the controlled freefall making her give a breathless woop.

Layla knows she’ll get through this one way or another. It’s just a question of what she’ll have when it’s over.

-

“This stuff reeks.” Will gags as she smears some of it onto his face.

Next to the door Warren huffs. “You smell like roses to me.”

Layla rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry Will, you’ll get used to the smell, and once we’ve left the Woods you can wash it off.” It’s not that humans are _forbidden_ from the Woods. Just...highly frowned upon. It’s not as if they don’t have good reasons for it. Once she’s done applying the paste she hands over the rest of Warren’s old clothes. “Once we leave the room try not to talk. Nobody out there will be speaking your human tongue, and your grasp on our own language isn’t the best.” They’re going to have to work on that. Or she hopes they are.

Will’s nod is hidden by the shirt as he tugs it on. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to talk, what with all the staring I’ll likely be doing.” It earns him a laugh from Warren, which catches Will off guard.

Layla rolls her eyes again. “Come on.” With perhaps more force than needed she wraps the cloak around him, pulling the hood over his head.

There’s no one up here in the family quarters, but she knows that’s going to change when they go further down. If she could she’d be more than happy to let Warren carry them. He’d put his foot down on that however. Disappointing really, it’d be a good way to show Will how fun Woodkin could be. She would think it would be hard to hate someone when they took you _flying_.

Walking through her people would have to be enough. While it might have been a joke she’s sure Will’s assessment of staring at everyone and everything isn’t all that far off. Maybe when they’ve left the Tree she’ll ask him what he thought, half-hoping he’ll find her home interesting.

Down the ever winding staircases they go, into the maze of the Tree. Perhaps it might have been easier for her to just _make_ a new staircase, one that went straight to the ground, but too many people would ask questions. Everyone knew she had powers over plants, but few knew how powerful she really was. There hadn’t been a Great Shaper in generations, let alone one that was also a greenwitch.

Shaking her head she pushes those thoughts aside. She needs to focus on not drawing attention to the three of them.

Easy enough in a way, even if her mother is Mother Layla’s only the second daughter. Important true, but also not worth paying all that much attention to. It’s not as if Gwen will die anytime soon. This thought brings no anger or bitterness. Layla might be powerful, but power alone does not a good Mother make. Gwen has half a century on Layla, time to gather allies and friends who will support her. Her rule will be good and her name will be remembered.

No, Layla does not envy her sister at all.

Voices draw her from her thoughts. They’re in the main halls now, and while they get a few looks, there are no questions. Perhaps it’s a good thing her people are used to seeing her and Warren do strange things.

Out of the corner of her eye she can just see Will’s face. The wonder in it is a relief of sorts. Warren might have been confident Will would forgive her, but she’d been uncertain until now. She might have to work a little more for it, but Will won’t reject her because she’s Woodkin. On Will’s other side Warren gives an annoyed sigh and shoves Will out of the way of a harried messenger.

They make it out of the Tree and Layla will _not_ question their luck.

The market around the Tree is as bustling as ever, merchants shout various deals at her and Warren but she’s in no mood for shopping at the moment—she does make a note of a spider-silk dress that catches her eye however.

She and Warren take Will to the left, leaving the market behind them and entering the Woods proper. Occasionally they’ll see someone, or hear voices just beyond the pathway, but they’re otherwise alone.

“If I weren’t so overwhelmed I might be worried about now.” Will’s comment comes out of nowhere and it takes her and Warren a moment to respond with laughter. What does he think they might do with him? Eat him? The Covenant against that has been around for _millennia._

Warren reaches out and pulls Will’s hood down. “Scrawny thing like you wouldn’t even make a good snack. Toothpick maybe.”

Layla rolls her eyes, honestly.

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m quite fit. I’ve hardly ever missed a day of training.” Will’s indignation is sort of sweet really. Perhaps she won’t tell him that Warren’s other shape could gobble him up in one bite.

Their bickering continues and Layla sees no reason to stop it. She knows how Warren acts around people he doesn’t like and this is nowhere near that. Anyways, Will’s giving as good as he gets, or trying to. She even pipes in herself on occasion, catching them both off guard.

In a way it’s easy and hard to tell when one’s left the Woods. More a feeling than anything. Between one step and the next you’ve moved from ancient lands to mortal forest. For her and Warren it’s nothing, but Will stops mid-sentence and shudders.

They have to move slower through the mortal forest than they could the Woods. It’s not as if her powers don’t work here, more that the forest doesn’t _bow_ to her like the Woods do. When they reach the treeline the late afternoon sun glimmers over a world of controlled chaos.

Half the castle doesn’t exist anymore, the melted and torn stones scattered all about like children’s toys. The village is in shambles, but it survived better than the castle. All around the rubble humans work like bees. It’s a good sign, one made even better with the king and queen overseeing it all.

Will all but dunks himself in a nearby stream, and Layla finds herself biting back a wan smile as she and Warren watch him race through the field towards the village and his parents. A wordless cry sounds as the first people see him, the sound growing until it is a cheering roar. Will and his parents embrace and that’s that for now.

Warren’s hand is hot on her shoulder. “Come on.”

-

A trial like this hasn’t been seen in forever. Everyone doing their best to get good seats, Layla’s certain she sees more bribes trading hands than she can remember.

The trial is so important that she doesn’t get the choice of whether or not to be there. She might be a footnote in the line of succession, but she is still a greenwitch. A show of power more than anything, but Layla’s fine with that.

She tells Warren he doesn’t have to come with her. He does anyways.

Taking her seat, being a greenwitch means she doesn’t have to fight for space, she blinks in surprise to see Will’s parents there. From the other side of the hall she can feel their nervousness. Feel it, but not see it. Even their neutral expressions stand out however, the seething mass of Woodkin around them curious and wondering.

Layla feels Warren grab the back of her chair when they bring his father in. She winces when the wood begins to smoke and char, but she says nothing.

-

For perhaps the first time in Layla’s life she’s nervous. She and Will haven’t seen each other since he returned to his home and she has no way of knowing if this will work.

Cursing comes from next to her and as she blinks Warren appears in front of her. “Layla, you need to calm down. Otherwise I’m _not_ going to be responsible for how I get us through that.” He points ahead of them to where the path has become overgrown with briars.

Oops.

Of all the days to let her powers get the better of her. Taking a deep breath she makes the briars melt back into the Woods. Warren looks relieved but doesn’t say anything as they continue forward. Like with the trial she’d told him he didn’t have to come, but he’d rolled his eyes and asked her what else there was for him in the Tree. Granted Layla hopes these actions don’t exile her from the Woods—she _had_ finally told her mother, who’d given her blessings but hadn’t said she _wouldn’t_ do anything in response.

Thankfully Warren’s taken as much care in his appearance as she has. Hair pulled back into a knot, his clothes fine sea silk in reds and dark browns—she’s pleased that the stitching on his clothes matches her dress—his bare arms have gold bands inscribed with dragon blessings, he even has a gold hoop in his ear.

It is perhaps not the most outrageous clothing she’s seen on a dragon, but it is different enough that the humans will stare.

To help sooth her nerves she runs a hand through her lose red hair, renewing the crown of oak and mistletoe she’d woven for herself. The spidersilk dress she’d seen ages ago feels like nothing against her skin, although she had dyed it a rich indigo to indulge the human’s sense of modesty.

As they cross into the forest it almost feels as if the Woods are saying farewell to her. She fights back tears, this is _not_ the last time she’ll see her home. She _swears_ it. That doesn’t stop the soft ache in her heart, but it’s all she has to comfort herself with. She picks up their pace, which helps get the nervous energy out of her. The brightly burning sun makes her squint for a moment, but she doesn’t let herself stop. Despite her own nervousness she can feel Warren relax beside her, tilting his head up to soak up more of the sun’s warmth.

The village looks even more put together than it did last time, and there’s work being done on the castle.

As they step into the village proper the humans glance and whisper. Like with the Tree, Woodkin are not forbidden from human lands, but after the attack she knows contact has been even sparser than it was before. Her hearing isn’t as good as Warren’s but she has a good idea that the humans are wondering what they’re doing, and how strange they look. As if the humans—so vastly different in size, shape, color, and gender—aren’t equally strange to the Woodkin.

Layla keeps her head high. If they attack she’ll defend herself but for now their wary interest is keeping them at bay. Her pace might be quick, but news travels faster. Until even the line of people waiting in front of the castle have heard of their arrival.

She’s heard Will complain enough about having to sit still for hours on end listening to, usually petty, grievances. Memorized the days they happen and planned to arrive during that time. Her only true worry in that regard had been that that schedule might have changed after the attack.

A ripple of surprise passes through the line as she and Warren join the end. Some of the nearby humans look like they might actually try to talk to her—curiosity overcoming even their trained wariness. But Warren gives a low rumble of warning and they all go about minding their own business.

The line moves slowly but surely. She and Warren make it up the steps and almost to the doors when the guards come. The woman of the two almost looks apologetic when she speaks. “His Highness asked us to take you to him.” Perhaps the tone is for the humans who mutter and shoot black looks.

“Of course,” Layla gives her most charming smile and follows them. She’d been content to wait but this is much better.

The line ends at another pair of doors, with more humans that look unhappy that someone else is going before them. With the doors already open she’s sure they’ll be be pleased to have first hand accounts of what’s about to happen. The human throne room is nothing like her mother’s. Stone instead of wood, tapestries—some torn and burned, but most in good condition—covering the walls and telling of the past glories of the Stronghold family.

It’s much larger as well, the floor taking some time to cross before they’re in front of the thrones.

Perhaps the only similarity is that both are open to the sky above, although she doubts the humans will keep it that way.

The thrones are dead wood, carved and stained and embedded with color. The king and queen sit at the top of the dias, with Will’s own chair a few steps down. Seated on it Will gapes like a fish. Layla resists the urge to grin and wave at him.

“Your visit surprises us lady and lord,” the voice of Will’s father fills the hall. “Why have you come to petition us?”

Layla does her best approximation of a human curtsy, deciding it’s not worth the energy to try and get Warren to bow. “I am Layla, second daughter of Mother Oihana and greenwitch in my own right.” Her words have the guards around them tensing, and just barely she can hear the humans in the hall quieting. “I have come to ask for the hand of your son William Stronghold in human marriage to help create a more lasting peace between our people.”

In a way she relishes the looks of surprise on the king and queen’s faces. Most of her attention is on Will however. Content to wait for his answer.


	3. Warren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the end. I hope you enjoy!

Warren knows that he is not what his grandparents, on either side, had wanted—and perhaps most days he is not what his father wanted either—when they’d arranged the match. He _had_ been born male, but in a way that had been the bare minimum.

Despite all the portents and omens he hadn’t been born a storm-child. No great and rare power answered to his call. He was instead just an odd amalgamation of his parents. His father’s fire powers, features that leaned more towards his mother—in both shapes. Not at all what had been expected.

Still when he was old enough he’d been sent along to the Tree. He might be no great lure as had been hoped, but he was handsome enough and connections in the Tree were not frowned upon. A grandchild or two wouldn’t be unwelcome either.

Not that Warren cared about any of that.

He _was_ glad to be sent away, for all that he loves his mother and the hoard of cousins. Being in the Tree gives him places to call his own, perhaps not land and territory, but enough for starting out. His rare visits to his paternal kin have taught him that those instincts aren’t wrong, just different from what he’s been surrounded by his whole life.

The actual politics, conniving, plotting aspect he couldn’t care less about. He’s interacted with interesting people, learned there’s more to the world than mountains and islands, learned a few new things. In his mind he’s calling it a success.

Along comes Layla. She doesn’t exactly _ruin_ things—it’s not as if there’s much in his life to ruin—but it can’t be said she didn’t throw his world on its head.

She’s nosy, ridiculously cheery, happily charges headfirst into danger. Even as a child power drips from her every pore. It’s not as if that’s off-putting, he just doesn’t get how people ignore her in favor of her older sister. How can you ignore Layla when she’s curious, loyal, always up for a bit of fun, and far more accepting of his ‘quirks’ than some?

So her idea of befriending the human prince is more out there than some of her plans. Yet he reasons it won’t be the strangest thing she’s ever done.

What he gets for letting her befriend _him_.

-

Despite how many times Layla asks Warren always returns to his childhood home alone.

Past the far edge of the Woods and over the mountains that his other kin call home, there is an ocean. A day’s sailing—or half a day’s flying—is the island chain that still resonates as _home_ to him. In the waves and on the beaches of the main island distant relations wave in hello before returning to their various jobs.

When he reaches the main path he changes from dragon to human. The air grows a little duller, but he still breathes it deep. The salt in the air is biting and he relishes it.

It’s easy to race up the path towards his mother’s house. Biting back a smile as some of his younger cousins cheer when the see him. The scent of brine grows stronger—oddly some might say—and Warren can smell vinegar and heat from the fires. The smile on his face grows when he reaches the first dye pot.

This time of day they’re covered. No one wants to be hunched over stinky pots in the hot sun. In a few hours they’ll be swarmed as cousins get to work dying what’d been woven earlier.

His nose gets used to the smells by the time he reaches the house. As he steps up into it different smells reach his nose. Stomach rumbling he smiles, lunch. “I’m home!” He calls out; Spark feels strange in his mouth after not speaking it for months.

“Warren!” There’s a clattering from the kitchen and only a second later his mother is there, sweeping him up into a hug. They rub cheeks before she pulls away. “You’ve grown again.” She looks him over with a seamstress’ eye.

“It’s good to see you too mom,” he gives her a rueful grin. “Can we eat or are you going to sew me new clothes first?”

She huffs and smacks his shoulder. “Dish duty after eating.” Small price to pay.

He even helps bring the food in, setting it on the low table between them before serving himself and digging in. Food at the Tree isn’t bad, but this is _much_ better. Hot enough to put fire in one’s breath as his father had once joked.

She tells him about the islands. Chao’s getting married to Aina in two moons and everyone’s busy preparing, Mei gave birth to a healthy baby boy. He tells her about his past few months in the Tree between bites. Like skilled dancers they avoid the subject of his father.

Afterwards he washes the dishes with only the expected amount of complaining. Then shifts into his true form to curl up in the garden for a nap.

When he wakes up he finds himself covered in his younger cousins. He shakes and lets loose a playful roar, sending them scattering. shrieking joyfully as he gives chase.

-

The urge to shift and go after his father is strong, to defend what Warren realizes he considered _his_. He’s not sure if he likes that realization or not.

Layla needs him in his other shape however, needs his hands and ability to talk.

Will looks beaten and battered under the rocks the two of them shift off him. Pointed reminder that he’s far more mortal than they are. Layla’s green eyes grow frosty, the color terrifying in its own right. “Come on.” Even in this shape he can feel his father, determination and a dark glee. It calls to him in a way he’s not comfortable with.

She scoops Will up without response. Keeping her head low she lets him lead the way back to the woods where they’ll be safer.

-

Humans are so...strange.

After Layla’s announcement they sort of sit or stand there in stunned silence. Warren’s tempted to shift to his true shape to see if they’d even notice.

It’s almost a relief when Will stands, murmurs of surprise passing through the guards when he descends the steps towards them. Or maybe the guards are nervous, hard to judge. Either way they watch intently as their prince comes to a stop in front of Layla.

In their respective regalia it’s easy to see who’s the human and who’s the Woodkin. Yet it’s also easy to see that they _fit._

“I accept your offer greenwitch Layla.” Well that’s done it then.

Warren hopes he can get used to sharing.

-

Warren’s in the garden. Letting himself enjoy a rare moment of peace in the sun. While he’d much prefer to be in his true form, he’s smart enough to know that after what happened a few moons ago, the humans wouldn’t react too kindly to a dragon curled up like a cat.

He ignores the sound of approaching footsteps. The human servants and guards have learned to leave him be, and it only took a few days more for the nobles to learn the same thing. If they want to attempt to cozy up to someone they can try Layla, he’s just not interested. It’s only when the footsteps get even closer that he opens an eye.

It’s Will and he blinks at him. Confused as to why he’s _here_. “Don’t you have more wedding things to do?” Warren had never thought a wedding could be full of so many little _thing_. Food, decorations, who sits next to whom, and on and on. It’s a wonder humans even get married at all.

Will doesn’t answer right away, instead collapsing to the ground in front of the bench Warren’s claimed and leaning his head back. Warren can feel it against his hip. He shoves the strange feeling it elicits into the same place he’d put the realization that he considered the human kingdom _his_ territory. He’s only here because of Layla, and that’s that.

“I’ve been kicked out for failing to realize the difference between two shades of purple. I would have thought not doing marriages would mean Layla would want something...quick. Not this...whole to do.”

Not bothering to spare Will’s feelings Warren laughs. The offended ‘hey!’ Will blurts out doesn’t help. Warren doesn’t even care he’s still grinning when the laughter dies away. “You forget Layla knows the importance of a good show, especially with this. Good luck.” Warren even means it. He wouldn’t be surprised if Layla intends to have the largest wedding in the history of this place.

Will groans.

-

Then it keeps happening. Warren has to wonder what about him says that he’s open to people coming to him to complain. Is it the same thing that had convinced Layla to sit across from him all those years ago?

Despite not wanting to Warren gets used to it, and Will’s not _too_ much of a ass about Warren always laughing.

Warren’s own part in the wedding’s pretty easy and simple. He shows up, looks good, and apparently has to make sure neither the bride nor groom escape. Why that might be a possibility is beyond him. Both of them agreed to this, why would they try to break that agreement? More human strangeness.

There are, of course, the whispers. Warren knows Layla hears them as well, even if she’s choosing to pointedly ignore them. So in a way it’s more that Warren intends ‘escape’ to mean ‘prevent kidnapping’. Not on the Layla front, she can very much protect herself, but the Will front. Easier after all to kidnap the human than the Woodkin. Which means that Warren can’t try to escape Will finding him when Will leaves Layla’s side.

Warren’s on high alert when he hears familiar stomping. He doesn’t however bother to glance up from his book—he’ll give the humans this, they make better books than Woodkin do—as the human falls into the seat across from him. “You’d think at this point they’d just have stopped asking me my opinion, instead of asking me and then kicking me out when they don’t like what I have to say.”

Warren can’t tell if Will’s mad about them not liking his opinions, or if he’s mad because his mother and Layla keep teaming up _against_ him. “Like I’m gonna know the answer. Talk to Layla, she’s the one who’ll actually explain what she’s thinking.” It’s not that hard honestly.

“I know. Just not right now I think.” He hears a shifting of fabric and the scrape of the chair against stone. “I miss us just being able to spend time together. I’m certain I’ve got _less_ free time now than I used to.”

It’s hard not to say he feels the same way. Warren hasn’t spent any decent amount of time with Layla since they got to the castle and it’s making him antsy. He’ll share her with Will because there’s no other choice, but she’s still _his_. “Make time,” he instead advises. “Layla’s good at getting into places she shouldn’t.” He should follow his own advice, try and arrange a night where he can curl up with her and sleep.

Will snorts. “Oh I know.” Warren lowers his book enough to roll his eyes at Will. Will rolls his eyes back, except with more sarcasm. “I’m not trying to push you out or anything, but I’m surprised you’re still here.” It’s not a question, but Warren can feel the one lurking behind Will’s words.

“She’s pretty much the only person at the Tree I can stand,” he might berate himself for his honesty later, but Will sort of deserves it. “And I love my family, but I need to have my own space.” Perhaps if he had more of his mother he’d be fine with living on the islands and looking after the hoard of cubs or some other job. For all his appearance however he’s got too much of his father in him.

The expression on Will’s face goes thoughtful. “I get that.” As much as a human can probably.

-

It’s a few days before the wedding and after a brief conversation with Layla about keeping Will close Warren leaves the castle and village behind him.

Once he’s in the safety of the Woods he shifts back into his true form and takes to the sky. He follows the same trail he always does, except this time he doesn’t fly over the mountains. Instead he banks and follows along them, the air currents here tricky. A few minutes pass before he finds a true entrance and not one of the dummy ones. With a deep breath to brace himself he dives in.

Unlike for his father’s kin the tunnel isn’t cramped, his sinuous body taking the sharp turns and narrowing walls with ease. It makes some of his cousins paranoid, afraid he’ll just slither in and steal their treasures with ease. Not that he’d want such things, not that they believe him.

Skittering reaches his ears and he can feel the vibrations in the earth through his whiskers. Stopping he waits, ready to strike. The tunnel is dark, but he doesn’t need to see to defend himself.

The earth to his left collapses and he strikes out with claws and fire. The giant millipede recoils with a clattering chitter. Warren strikes again, forcing the thing back into the tunnel it’d made. It goes, deciding to try and find much easier prey somewhere else. Once he’s sure it’s gone he continues on his way, moving confidently through the tunnels.

Warren much prefers the ocean where not only is there wide open space, but the other top predators don’t just go out of their way to find and attack you.

Reaching his grandfather’s hoard he stops. The announcing roar he makes echoing through the cave system. There is a sort of niggling temptation in the back of his head as he waits, it would be easy to reach out and snatch up some of the gold or gems here. Now that he’s announce himself it’s not as if he’s going to open his mouth again.

Grandfather arrives before Warren can decide if it’d be worth it or not.

He’s barrel-like and large, his scales a mottle of brown, red, and white. Green-gold eyes stare at him critically before one of grandfather’s forearms sweeps a patch of stone clear. Claws flashing he begins to dig them into the floor.

Unlike the wave dragons the mountain dragons never learned to take on human shapes, to speak with tongues and throats. They do read and write, leaving the records of centuries of conversations on their floors and walls. Handy in its own right.

After they get through the expected niceties Warren makes it clear he’s not here to spend time with his family, or to trade. The only reason he’s talking with his grandfather is because he needs permission to speak with those that he _wants_ to.

Dragons are not the only creatures that live in these mountains after all.

Grandfather begrudgingly gives permission and Warren slithers off.

Once he’s left the dragon tunnels behind he shifts from one shape to the other. Patting the sachet on his hip as if to check it’s still there he continues on. The sounds of many voices reaches his ears and it seems—although he knows it’s not—that between one step and the next he’s moved from tunnel to bustling city.

Around him move goblins and dwarves, paying him no mind as they go about their own business. Warren gives them the same regard as he begins to wind his way through them, his destination clear in his mind.

The smithy he stops at looks like every other smithy in the city, except perhaps that there are fewer beings here haggling for goods. Warren waits his turn to present his idea, confident that it will one of the ones chosen.

When the master of the forge gets to him Warren isn’t intimidated by the dwarf’s size, or the bulky arms and shoulders. “I want to commission a crown shaped like branches.” If Layla’s going to be queen someday it only stands to rights in Warren’s mind that she have a crown worthy of her.

-

Warren’s honestly surprised when the wedding goes off with only minor hitches.

He expected _something_. A human with nothing to lose and a dagger, another rogue Woodkin sweeping in with a well placed curse.

Alright, so that last one might just be proof that he’s been reading too many human stories, but he feels it just proves his point. _Something_ should have happened and it didn’t. It makes him suspicious. Chilly dread makes him uncomfortable that something worse will be happening at a later point.

-

The party after the wedding is in full swing. Warren’ll have to give the humans this, they write good stories and throw even better parties. It might lack the magic he’s come to expect from those of the Woodkin, but humans make up for it in enthusiasm.

He drinks out of his own cup, the bubbles in the beverage catching him off guard yet again. This is his third glass, you’d think he’d be used to them by now.

On the center of the room Layla and Will are spinning around with other dancers, the band in the corner playing a rapid tune that pulses in the blood. Cheers go up as the song ends and more than a few people drain their cups. On the floor dancers come and go, he can see Layla saying something to Will before leaving the floor, sitting gracefully. Will all but darts to the edge of the floor, stealing his mother away. Peals of laughter follow.

As much as Warren might like to enjoy himself his dread has been joined by a strange prickling at the edge of his mind. He’s done his best to ignore it, but try as he might it just won’t go away. A plume of smoke leaves him as he sighs—he would be worried except there’s plenty of smoke from the various fires on the edges of the party.

Giving up on ignoring it he instead sets his cup down and goes off in search of it.

Most of the humans ignore him as he meanders around, they’ve grown use to him after a fashion and know better than to try and talk to him. The prickling grows stronger the closer he is to the edges of the party.

He reaches a door where the feeling is strongest and rolling his shoulders he draws up some of the fire inside him. It’s not as easy in this form as it is in his true one, but it’s _his_ fire. Opening the door he steps out into the empty hallway. He curls his hand into a fist and then opens it quickly, flame blooming in its wake. The prickling stops and someone steps into the circle of his fire.

Gwen.

Warren bares his teeth at her. “What do you want?”

“Oh,” her head tilts, flower-wreathed black hair streaming in the light. “I just wanted to speak to my sister, tell her of the gift I’ve given her. That’s what humans do on weddings right?” The fire in his hand shifts from cool reds and oranges, to hot blues and purples.  The change in colors making her appear even more otherworldly.

“And what is it you’ve gotten for me, sister dear?” Layla’s voice sounds behind him and Warren does his best not to tense. Gwen isn’t truly an enemy, only someone to be wary of, yet Layla’s here and he’s always going to worry a little.

Gwen steps forward but stops when he gives a rumbling warning. He almost does the same to Layla when she comes to a stand next to him, he’d much rather they stay further apart. “Oh I thought you’d like to know those humans who were going to kill your husband,” she sneers the word. “Won’t ever bother you again.” She shrugs as if it were nothing. “My friends needed some new pets anyways.”

Layla takes another step towards her sister. The fire in Warren’s hand reacts—the only outward sign of Warren’s own emotions—going green-hot. It makes the leaves in the crown he gave Layla appear to be more real than they are. “Your gift is welcome Gwen.” He can’t see it, but he knows what smile Layla’s wearing. “Now leave.”

“But sister,” if it wouldn’t get him hurt he’d swipe that pout off Gwen’s face with his claws. “Don’t you want to introduce me to our new family? I’ve been ever so curious about them.”

“No. I do not. This human kingdom is mine, the people in it are under my protection. While I might accept the gift you’ve given me you will _not_ go after my people again. Not so long as I live.” Layla’s words stir up Warren’s own possessive feelings. He doesn’t give voice to them however, Gwen wouldn’t understand them.

Gwens eyes grow flinty. “Beware sister. I will be more powerful than you in time.”

Layla turns around, showing Gwen her back as she begins to head towards the door. “So I’ve been told all my life sister. I shall be interesting to see if that’s actually true or not.” Warren extinguishes his fire and follows after Layla. “Come on,” she says to him as they close the door behind them. He follows her around the edges of the party, surprised she doesn’t try to rejoin the festivities.

Will’s lurking by a staircase, waiting for them. “I didn’t realize you were going to get Warren.” He doesn’t sound angry, just surprised.

“Make our escape now, talk later.” Together they hurry up the stairs towards what Warren realizes is Layla and Will’s rooms. He decides not to question why they’re pulling him along.

Not questioning things gets him all the way into their large bed, Layla’s cold feet attempting to warm up against his thighs like they have a hundred times before. Will looks like he wants to question why Warren's in the bed with them, but he thinks better of it.

Her head’s resting on Will’s chest, fiery hair spread around him. “I didn’t realize you could summon green-fire.” Despite her sleepy tone Warren knows she’s fully aware.

“I didn’t either.” Is his honest answer. Green-fire’s almost as rare as storm children.

Her eyes start to close as she smiles. “Should take us with you next time you go to visit your mom.” Not giving either of them a chance to respond she slips off into sleep.

Warren finds himself rolling his eyes, not only at Layla but at Will’s bemused expression as well. “Where are you even from?” Will sounds more curious than anything.

“Far shore,” Warren finds himself biting back a yawn. “Islands in the ocean.”

Will echoes his yawn, blinking owlishly as he slumps more into pillows. “Never been to the ocean before. Always wondered what it looked like.”

Warren’s last thought before he too falls into sleep is that perhaps sharing these two with his family wouldn’t be so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> See you next week!


End file.
